er your
kindness. But a man knows when he is beat. And I'm beat now." He hung
his head in silence awhile. Then he said, in a faint voice, "This is
what has done it, sir," and handed him the letter.

Mr. Cheetham examined it, and said, "I am not surprised at your being
taken aback by this. But it's nothing new to us; we have all been
threatened in this form. Why, the very last time I fought the trades,
my wife was threatened I should be brought home on a shutter, with my
intestines sweeping the ground. That was the purport, only it was put
vernacular and stronger. And they reminded me that the old gal's clothes
(that is Mrs. Cheetham: she is only twenty-six, and the prettiest lass
in Coventry, and has a row of ivories that would do your heart good:
now these Hillsborough hags haven't got a set of front teeth among 'em,
young or old). Well, they told me the old gal's clothes could easily be
spoiled, and her doll's face and all, with a penn'orth of vitriol."

"The monsters!"

"But it was all brag. These things are threatened fifty times, for once
they are done."

"I shall not risk it. My own skin, if you like. But not hers: never, Mr.
Cheetham: oh, never; never!"

"Well, but," said Mr. Cheetham, "she is in no danger so long as you keep
away from her. They might fling one of their petards in at the window,
if you were there; but otherwise, never, in this world. No, no, Little,
they are not so bad as that. They have blown up a whole household,
to get at the obnoxious party; but they always make sure he is there
first."

Bayne was appealed to, and confirmed this; and, with great difficulty,
they prevailed on Little to remain with them, until the Unions should
decide; and to discontinue his visits to the house on the hill in the
meantime. I need hardly say they had no idea the house on the hill was
"Woodbine Villa."

He left them, and, sick at heart, turned away from Heath Hill, and
strolled out of the lower part of the town, and wandered almost at
random, and sad as death.

He soon left the main road, and crossed a stile; it took him by the side
of a babbling brook, and at the edge of a picturesque wood. Ever and
anon he came to a water-wheel, and above the water-wheel a dam made
originally by art, but now looking like a sweet little lake. They were
beautiful places; the wheels and their attendant works were old and
rugged, but picturesque and countrified; and the little lakes behind,
fringed by the master-grinder'